Kiss That Blarney Stone

          It is hard to have the last name of FINN and slide past St. Patrick's Day. Patricia is the female version of Patrick and Finn is oh so very Irish. My ancestors came from Ireland. So far no one has found a way to pick their ancestors and I am not sure I would want to if I could. Our heritage remains one of the few things we are not able to change. Teaching young children, I would often say, “You get what you get and you don’t get to pick.” Not a popular 21st century idea but I am old enough to still think that some facts are facts.

            If you are asking, what's good about Gaelic I have a very Irish response. To start: Most ethnic stereotypes have a foundation of truth and a mountain of myth. Do I like the color green? “Yes.” Do I like gold? “Yes.” Corned beef? “Yes.” Cabbage? “Maybe.”

A friend visited Ireland and when she came back, she marveled that it really is unusually green, not from grass but from a lot of shamrocks. As for the Irish image of a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow – that has been my life’s experience with gold.

            Have I gone to Ireland? No, but I grew up with families named Kelly, O'Callaghan, and McCarthy, just to name a few. We never gave being Irish a second thought. Wasn’t the whole world Irish? We were all Catholic, Irish and that was that.

I have the sea trunk that my great grandfather used in the 1840’s to cross the Atlantic to escape the potato famine. In a grandparent’s attic full of treasures, I found a green flag with a gold harp (one of the early Irish flag designs) and a flute my father played when he was young. I'm told that in Ireland, the Finn family was held in high esteem because they had the only farm with a tin roof. Unfortunately, this was reported by a relative who visited Ireland in the 1980's, but prosperity is prosperity. As for St. Patrick, I was shocked when I learned that he was British, but I guess you never know what’s what and who’s who.

          A beloved aunt visited Ireland and kissed the Blarney Stone. This is not an easy task. Apparently, you have to lean backwards over an abyss. The Celtic Cross marks her grave and those of other FINN family members. My aunt was proud to be Irish. On a journey to the land of green she bought me a marble ring in the shape of a shamrock. I also like Waterford crystal and Belleek china if anyone is taking notes. So, if we examine the facts carefully, they all point to being Irish and I will even admit that the potato is my favorite carb.

It is true that the Irish excel at the sport of drinking. In Proverbial Wisdom I wrote an Irish Haiku. "Ice floating in a glass of clear liquid."  When my father would tactfully refer to someone’s drinking as her ‘elbow bending habit.’ They in turn would snap, "There is nothing worse than reformed drunk."

         Although I always choose ‘flight’ in the fight or flight paradigm, I like Notre Dame’s slogan, The Fighting Irish. It has implications of strength and determination. I like being Irish and sometimes I wonder what ever happened to my childhood neighbors, the Kellys, the O’Callaghan’s, and the Murphys. No longer the newest immigrants on the block, are they lost in the American melting pot? Melting  pot or not, this week when we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day I will be smiling and wearing green.